


Sartorial

by orphan_account



Category: Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Gen, Growing Up, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:33:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian grows. Robin evolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sartorial

The Doc Martens are the first to go. At fourteen, he can admit they are and have always been impractical—too heavy, too rigid, not to mention the safety hazard posed by the long laces. Once upon a time, he chose them precisely because they were nothing like those horrendous little pixie boots Grayson had worn.  
  
But he isn't a defiant ten-year-old anymore. He's rapidly approaching Father's height and there is a constant, bone-deep ache in his newly long limbs. For now, his body is a clumsy, unfamiliar thing and sensible footwear—by definition—is the sensible choice.

 

* * *

  
  
At fifteen, he starts carrying a bokken. He can fight with his bare hands, his legs, with his teeth and nails and whatever he has to, really, but he's always been just that little bit better with a sword. There's something comforting about its weight in his hands or strapped to his back; not unlike armor, it's another layer between himself and his opponents.  
  
Grayson, Drake and Brown have their sticks and staffs, Todd has his guns, Father has his numerous gadgets and Cain has those uncanny abilities of hers which he still can't help envying while being simultaneously wary of them, but none of them care for swords. It's Damian's thing, and unlike the Doc Martens, it is a useful one.

 

* * *

  
  
He loses the cape and hood out of necessity; he can't very well draw a sword with them in the way.  
  
For weeks he finds his hand twitching towards his collar at odd moments, ready to yank the hood over his head whenever he suspects his expression is not quite as stony as he'd prefer. Disconcerted by having indulged in such a childish and _transparent_ habit for so long, he decides to eliminate hoods from his civilian wardrobe once and for all.

 

* * *

  
  
By sixteen he's down to a simple dark suit not unlike Grayson's, though he's been careful to keep some of Robin's jewel tones in the faux vest pattern across his chest, in the green gloves he sees no reason to discard.  
  
Apparently it's not enough; he's had the new uniform for all of two weeks when Grayson comes snooping, probably on Father's request. Damian recognizes the signs of an impending conversation about Feelings when he sees them; first an offer to patrol together “just like old times!”, Father making sure to let them know he has urgent League matters to attend to far _far_ away from Gotham and possibly planet Earth while he's at it, and then the finishing touch; Grayson plying him with Starbucks instead of moaning about the terrible effects of caffeine on the growing body.  
  
“You know, Robin, in every young bird's life comes a—”  
  
“Please stop embarrassing yourself.”  
  
“— _a time_ when they're ready to leave the nest,” Grayson intones smoothly.  
  
“I can't believe you just said that out loud.”  
  
“What I'm trying to say is, you've been Robin for six years. That's a long time. In a couple of months you'll have been Robin for longer than anyone else.”  
  
Damian blinks. He's never quite thought of it like that.  
  
“ _If_ ,” Grayson goes on, “that is what you want. But if it isn't...”  
  
“You may let certain cowardly parties know I'm not about to throw a hissy fit and run away to, say, _Blüdhaven_.”  
  
“ _Hey_.”  
  
The gentle tap to the back of his head is expected; Damian graciously allows it.  
  
“I'm Robin,” he says, perhaps redundantly, but even after all these years it feels good to say the words. “It cannot last forever, but for now, I'm Robin. And we both know what comes next.”  
  
Grayson nods, apparently unsurprised.  
  
“Yeah, that's pretty much what I told him but you know how he gets. It's not that he doesn't trust you.”  
  
“As much as he ever trusts anyone or anything.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
The city seems deceptively quiet from upon their perch on Wayne Tower, but Damian knows from long experience there's madness and mayhem down there, _always_. It's a madness he has become familiar with, though, and which he knows will stick with him through the rest of his life like the sweat and dirt of a hard night's work never quite finished.  
  
“We should get a move on,” he tells Grayson.  
  
“Yeah. I'm glad we had this talk, though.”  
  
“Yes. You should consider writing Hallmark cards as an alternative career.”  
  
“Hardy har har. By the way, coffee is terrible for your heart, you know,” Grayson says, eyeing Damian's cup longingly.  
  
Damian rolls his eyes and hands it over. So much for bribery.


End file.
